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Goss, for his part, said that “I would like to report to you that the agency is back on a very even keel and sailing well.”

“We’ve got to win the war on terror” is the best you can do when the CIA director up and walks? That’s not exactly the best line for someone’s retirement party, is it? We’ve got to win the war on terror and step one is inviting Gossie not to let the door hit him on the ass isn’t exactly a gold watch and a handshake. Sounds… rushed. It’s not up to the usual Stepfordian, scripted saccharine of the Bush Team. Sounds like someone got caught with his pants down.

And with that as my segue, what is not, on the other hand, on an even keel is the reputation of a number of current and former Congressmen who are currently being investigated in connection with a hookers-for-contracts ring involving a couple of lobbyists and a whole bunch of Congressmen. And Goss, of course, used to be a Congressman and has been rumored to be a potential target of the investigation.

I imagine he’s going to say he’s retiring to spend more time with his family, since that is the BushCo party line when someone walks the plank. I have to wonder if it has to do with those doin’s at the Watergate, though.

As MAC pointed out, it seems like it would take an idiot to do anything at all questionable within five miles of that place. And yet, there they were. I imagine that the psychology of the taboo was in full effect, that at least once in an elevator one of them clapped the other on the back and said, “At the Watergate? Man, that is hot.”

One night she went out with another Montrose mom and stitched a pink-and-purple cozy onto a boutique’s door handle. It was an act of artistic defiance, a soft, warm tag in a part of town dominated by aerosol arrogance. Other swaths began appearing on street signs, car antennae and park benches, and word soon got around there was a new crew of taggers in town.

Their noms d’artiste are AKrylik and PolyCotN, but you can call them Knitta.

Later in the article:

“It’s considerate to the victim,” says Poly, rifling through a bag of yarn. “If they don’t like it, they can just unbutton it.”

“It’s not vandalism,” adds AKrylik, fiddling with her baby blanket. “I almost wish there was a little more permanency to it, that it was a little harder to remove.”

On the coffee table is a morass of stockinette coasters and cozies. Each item has a paper tag attached to it, a calling card of sorts, with the message “knitta, please!” or “whaddup knitta?”

Psychalking. Awesome. Print your reference card today! Or don’t, since, you know, they could use an impression from the printer to track your movements and find out you’re onto them. Later, collapse into a whimpering ball from the paradox of choices. Either way, hey, it beats watching primetime. (more…)

So, according to the Sunshine Project and New Scientist,
the US Air Force proposed developing a number of non-lethal chemical
weapons in the early-mid-’90s. One of these staggering feats of
brillance was, essentially, gay spray. It would be an aphrodisiac
so powerful that enemy soldiers would find one another sexually
irresistable. As rampant gayness broke out amongst the enemy
troops, the theory went, morale would go down^H^H^Hsink. (Haw haw!) At the very least, they’d be too busy screwing to shoot anyone.

Of course, civilian uses immediately entered my mind, and I have just two words for you: frat mixer.

Aw yeah.

Other suggested results were the attraction of stinging insects or
angry vermin, or making enemy troops highly sensitive to
sunlight. Mix the gay spray (GaySprayTM – Get Gay Today!) and the vampire gas, stand out front of Legends a couple nights a week and you’d make a fucking fortune.

Work and life are far too busy today for me to do much in the way of
lengthy extemporizing. I know you must be horribly disappointed –
who wouldn’t want to hear me blow hot air up the universe’s
tailpipe for hours on end, after all – but I have managed to make time
for some reading.

Do I buy it? I dunno. I believe he would use an earpiece to
cheat during a debate, and I think that so many people feel the same –
that he is inherently untrusted to play by the rules, that he will cut
corners and lie to gain an advantage and that this is entirely
believable – says plenty enough about the President and the public’s
perception of his integrity, whether there’s ever “proof” or not.

There’s a new theory that’s been floated, though – has been popping up
the whole time, rather, but until lately hasn’t been getting a lot of
face-time. In short, it’s that Bush is wearing a portable defibrillator
since he, as a Bush (they have a history of heart problems) and as a
former(?) cokehead (they run a higher risk of heart attack and stroke
later in life), might seriously, seriously need one at the drop of a fucking hat.

So. Following what I consider to be a pretty solid formula for
the creation of most conspiracy theory, we take (a) Bush has a hump
under his back AND (b) Bush is at elevated risk of stroke and/or
cardiac arrest AND (c) the left side of Bush’s face is droopy AND (d)
there’s that weird-ass pretzel story, the sort of Fordian (as in
Gerald) slapstick we would have expected from a Chevy Chase routine
over 25 years ago, and we come up with: Bush is wearing a
portable defibrillator because Lord knows he probably needs one.

I should note that when I say “conspiracy theory,” I do so not
as an epithet. Those who know me know my love for a good
conspiracy theory as a cultural artifact, an article of faith in the
first secular spirituality of the first secular society. But even
as I admire them as accomplishments of paranoid imaginations and ways
to explain the unknowable of the universe, I recognize that there have
been plenty of them later proven true (Watergate, Iran-Contra, the 1980
October Surprise, etc.). And I well recall that the first thing Mr. Saturday
said about the third debate was, “Was it me, or was his mouth shaped
funny? It was sagging on the left side. It looked
weird.” And I thought the same thing. My grandmother had a
series of small strokes at the outset of Parkinson’s. I remember
that look all too well.

And hey, even if none of it’s true, it’s fun to kick the President around.

Wait a second – didn’t I say something at the beginning about not having time today? Oh. Yeah. (more…)

OK, so you all know it: I love a ridiculous conspiracy theory. Specifically, my fave of today is this one:

Mentioned in these books is that persons at Yale University have
been selected to be pushed to the top by the American Aristocracy,
including members of the Bush Family. To be initiated, they are forced
to divulge their entire sex life and other deep personal details. These
satanic rituals are carried out in a window-less building at Yale,
known as The Tomb.

New members engage in homosexual acts while they lay in a coffin.

[…]

Two important reputed pictures of George W. Bush were in the custody
of American Media, Inc., headquartered in Boca Raton, Florida.
publisher of several supermarket tabloids including National Enquirer.
One was an authenticated one of George W. Bush, laying in the satanic
ritual coffin while engaging in homosexual acts with his male sex-mate
who was later to engage in such over later years and traveled with Bush
and reportedly on occasion stayed at Bush’s Texas ranch. The other
picture was mentioned in Part 13 of this “Overthrow” series.

Now, I find this whole idea as ridiculous as anybody else. To be
perfectly frank, I doubt there’s anything more to S&B than a bunch
of Yalies who like to get trashed, talk shit about one another and
generally party down. I think a typical tableau of a party scene
from their house would be lots of dudes in Izods, lampshades adorning
their heads, with a big banner in the back that reads, “WE 0WNZ0RED THE
WORLD!” I can’t find them very threatening, and although the
sexual-history-from-the-coffin aspect of their initiations is described
identically in Kitty Kelley’s new book, I somehow find it hard to
believe that these moneyed illustrations of otherwise standard
frat-cheese would engage in “homosexual acts.” I mean, I know it
happens, I know there’s a lot more Bro-on-Bro hanky-panky that goes on
than is publicly admitted to – this is a simple enough conclusion to
make based on there simply being a given population of humans involved, true of any organization or body or society or culture or whatever – but I don’t in fact secretly think (or fantasize) that Republicans are bumping same-sex uglies in some joint called The Tomb.

However, this bit caught my attention: One was an authenticated one of George W. Bush, laying in the satanic
ritual coffin while engaging in homosexual acts with his male sex-mate
who was later to engage in such over later years and traveled with Bush
and reportedly on occasion stayed at Bush’s Texas ranch.

Why’d that catch my attention? Because that’s one of the
hypothetical dirty little secrets of George’s past that was originally
rumored to be in the Kitty Kelley book, as well. It Came From Blogistan, so take it with the whole pillar of salt and then find a little more
salt to go with it, but I find it interesting the same rumor would turn
up in two obscure and assumedly unrelated places. I haven’t
gotten far enough into Kitty Kelley’s book to know whether it’s in
there, too, or not, but I think tonight I might have to do something
about that.

On the other hand, we all know the phrase that shoots down any
argument, any position, any thought, once used to preface the
same: “But it must be true, I read it on the Internet…”
And, frankly, the wooly world of conspiracy theories is precisely the
most likely place for one theory to end up worming its way into a dozen
others. Rumors don’t spread in the land of conspiracies – they infect.

Still, the thought of Bush having a fuckbuddy on the side from his
college days is high hilarity. It makes me giggle, and I like
that. (more…)

Those who know me know that I am obsessed with zombies – not so much
with their eradication, though I am glad to know that Kath has
volunteered to lead us to safety in case of a large-scale outbreak of
undead, but more with their place in sociopolitical commentary
masquerading as mass-media entertainment. I love zombie movies.

About This Site

Robust McManlyPants on Average Display is a personal weblog on a variety of topics: books, movies, neopaganism, activism, politics, gaming and personal whinging. It is a haven of leftist literacy, a horn of plenty - nay, a frothy font whence flows an endless stream of random observations, amateur photography and catty commentary. This site is no less than the homosexual agenda incarnate.

My pseudonym itself is nothing more than a funny title invented during a conversation about the ridiculous names give to the main characters of videogames.

I can be reached via email using the link in any post.

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Pink Kryptonite is a queer-targeted comics blog to which I contribute under the name Klarion.